- Preparing a Birth Plan, and Other Wastes of Time
- It's Supposed to Hurt
- Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Take That Down
- Exactly How Much is This Going to Suck?
- Negotiating the Pitfalls of Labor/Management Relations: How to Tell Your Doctor What He/She Can Do with Those Forceps Without Sounding Rude
- What Goes Up Must Come Down
- Not All Babies Are Cute: How to Love a Conehead
Monday, August 13, 2007
L&D Books dying to be written
Since I'm a veteran, I'm not planning to attend childbirth classes or watch Babies: Special Delivery marathons on TLC this time around. I'm thinking it might be a good idea to check out a labor & delivery book just to refresh my memory about stages of labor and whatnot. I'd prefer to skip the blessings and miracles and promises of painlessness, but there don't seem to be any books out there that fit the bill. Where are these titles?:
Friday, August 10, 2007
Round update: Week 35
It turns out every other kid in Paolo's class knows what a woman walking around toting an enormous belly means. Each time I enter the classroom, another ankle-biter runs up and asks if I have a baby in my belly, if I'm going to have a baby, or why my belly is so fat. I should really work on an answer to that last puzzler that's better than, "Because it is" or "Well, your belly isn't so small," both of which are things I have actually said. If I could be sure that Paolo knew the current location of his brother, I'd respond like I had two brain cells to rub together, but I don't think he knows. As I've mentioned before, we decided not to bring it up unless he asks.
This morning I was fending off another probing question when Paolo hooked one arm around my leg and put his other hand protectively on my stomach and steered me away from the interrogation. It reminded me of the phase he went through at three when, if another child approached me, he would jump between us, arms out to ward off the interloper, and shout, "MY Mama," as if I were his greatest possession. On the other hand, he may have just felt bad for me because his friends keep calling me fat. Whether or not he has a clue what's inside, Paolo loves my belly. He likes to pat it, lay his head on it, or - my favorite - grab me around the legs and look up at me from beneath so only his eyes and the top of his head are visible. Cracks me up every time.
Paolo has picked up on the whole pampered pregnant thing, too. Last night he asked me if I wanted a glass of milk, and I said I did. (I drink about a cow and a half a week.) He instantly called out, "Daddy, you gotta get Mama some milk." That's how it works these days: I have two boys attentive to my comfort and every need. It's overwhelming, slightly embarrassing, and lovely. It's also temporary, so SOMEBODY FETCH ME SOME LEMONADE AND RUB MY FEET.
This morning I was fending off another probing question when Paolo hooked one arm around my leg and put his other hand protectively on my stomach and steered me away from the interrogation. It reminded me of the phase he went through at three when, if another child approached me, he would jump between us, arms out to ward off the interloper, and shout, "MY Mama," as if I were his greatest possession. On the other hand, he may have just felt bad for me because his friends keep calling me fat. Whether or not he has a clue what's inside, Paolo loves my belly. He likes to pat it, lay his head on it, or - my favorite - grab me around the legs and look up at me from beneath so only his eyes and the top of his head are visible. Cracks me up every time.
Paolo has picked up on the whole pampered pregnant thing, too. Last night he asked me if I wanted a glass of milk, and I said I did. (I drink about a cow and a half a week.) He instantly called out, "Daddy, you gotta get Mama some milk." That's how it works these days: I have two boys attentive to my comfort and every need. It's overwhelming, slightly embarrassing, and lovely. It's also temporary, so SOMEBODY FETCH ME SOME LEMONADE AND RUB MY FEET.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Northwest Arkansas Crime Report 8/2/07
2:53 p.m. A woman at 20089 Center Road, Winslow, reported her neighbor shot some of her goats.
6:46 p.m. A woman at 160 Roundtop Road, Sulphur Springs, reported her boyfriend threatened to shoot her cattle because he believed she shot his dog.
Guns don’t kill animals. Wal-Mart's everyday low prices on ammunition kill animals.
10:02 p.m. A woman at 1217 W. Walnut St. reported a man stole her phone and then told her to pick it up at Waffle Hut but he didn’t leave it there.
You’d think a thief would be more honest.
5:10 p.m. A woman on Bonnabel Lane, Rogers, reported a child accused her of stealing his mother’s cigarettes.
But if you hand over your lighter, he’ll pretend he never saw a thing.
10:55 p.m. A man on Sunnydale Drive reported his ex-girlfriend would not leave.
10:56 p.m. A woman on Sunnydale Drive reported her ex-boyfriend beat her up.
When your psycho ex-boyfriend with violent tendencies tells you to leave, it may not be worth sticking around to finish the argument. I’m just saying.
6:46 p.m. A woman at 160 Roundtop Road, Sulphur Springs, reported her boyfriend threatened to shoot her cattle because he believed she shot his dog.
Guns don’t kill animals. Wal-Mart's everyday low prices on ammunition kill animals.
10:02 p.m. A woman at 1217 W. Walnut St. reported a man stole her phone and then told her to pick it up at Waffle Hut but he didn’t leave it there.
You’d think a thief would be more honest.
5:10 p.m. A woman on Bonnabel Lane, Rogers, reported a child accused her of stealing his mother’s cigarettes.
But if you hand over your lighter, he’ll pretend he never saw a thing.
10:55 p.m. A man on Sunnydale Drive reported his ex-girlfriend would not leave.
10:56 p.m. A woman on Sunnydale Drive reported her ex-boyfriend beat her up.
When your psycho ex-boyfriend with violent tendencies tells you to leave, it may not be worth sticking around to finish the argument. I’m just saying.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Baby name suggestions, by Paolo
1. Carlo (also the name of Paolo's imaginary dog that he's had for two years)
2. His father will come and tell us what his name is
3. I don't think we should call him ANYTHING
4. Luke, like Luke Skywalker
5. Bruno
6. John Cheffer (We were watching Top Chef at the time, or it may have been Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares, unless it was Hell's Kitchen, although definitely not Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations because that comes on past my bedtime. Two hundred channels, and all we watch are cooking shows.)
2. His father will come and tell us what his name is
3. I don't think we should call him ANYTHING
4. Luke, like Luke Skywalker
5. Bruno
6. John Cheffer (We were watching Top Chef at the time, or it may have been Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares, unless it was Hell's Kitchen, although definitely not Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations because that comes on past my bedtime. Two hundred channels, and all we watch are cooking shows.)
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Tears in the Pesto
I know it's been a while since I've posted the hilarious and intriguing police calls from our local paper, but today I have my own crime to report. My potted basil plant was stolen from our front walk Saturday night. I went out Sunday afternoon to gather the basil I'd need for two of my dinner dishes, and there was a gap in my row of potted herbs. I didn't jump to conclusions. I scouted the perimeter of the house and questioned its inhabitants before arriving at the sad and shocking truth: somebody ripped off my basil. And then I began swearing, which I believe is the step after denial in the grieving process.
It's Tuesday now, and I don't think my basil will be returned. I've left its spot open, just in case the hooligans might regret their actions, but only the chalky orange circle on the pavement stares up at me each day. Since I can't figure out why anyone would steal another person's 20-inch pot, AND SAUCER, three feet from the front door, I can't help but wonder what has become of my plant. I mean, the thieves took the saucer. Doesn't that mean they care? Maybe they've always wanted a basil plant of their own but, for whatever reason, just weren't able to have one. Or have they completely stripped it and created some culinary nightmare with all of its beautiful leaves? By now the dirt-filled pot must be lying cracked and abandoned in a ditch somewhere.
As some insensitive clod said to me, at least I still have my other herbs. That is cold comfort, Sam, I mean, anonymous insensitive clod! What the hell do you think Angelina would say if someone made off with Pax? Oh, it's okay, I still have Shiloh and Maddox and Zahara...dear Lord, and I get flak for "Paolo"? Yes, Sage and Rosemary are present and hearty, but Basil is gone! Basil was my favorite, my high-needs herb, the one that mattered the most in our summer cuisine. Too much sun, it burns; too little sun; it won't mature; too much pruning, it can't recover; too little pruning, it goes to seed. I have spent years perfecting the right location, pot size, maintenance regimen, and this year I nailed it. It wasn't a basil plant, it was a basil epiphany. Oh, you should have seen it. Have you seen it? Or who took it? There may be a reward.
I have imposed upon you long enough, kind reader, with my tale of woe. I could have written something funny, like how Paolo wants to change his name to Chief Bruno, but instead I've bored you with botanical theft: a senseless-but not victimless-crime. The writing has been therapeutic for me. Maybe now the healing can begin.
It's Tuesday now, and I don't think my basil will be returned. I've left its spot open, just in case the hooligans might regret their actions, but only the chalky orange circle on the pavement stares up at me each day. Since I can't figure out why anyone would steal another person's 20-inch pot, AND SAUCER, three feet from the front door, I can't help but wonder what has become of my plant. I mean, the thieves took the saucer. Doesn't that mean they care? Maybe they've always wanted a basil plant of their own but, for whatever reason, just weren't able to have one. Or have they completely stripped it and created some culinary nightmare with all of its beautiful leaves? By now the dirt-filled pot must be lying cracked and abandoned in a ditch somewhere.
As some insensitive clod said to me, at least I still have my other herbs. That is cold comfort, Sam, I mean, anonymous insensitive clod! What the hell do you think Angelina would say if someone made off with Pax? Oh, it's okay, I still have Shiloh and Maddox and Zahara...dear Lord, and I get flak for "Paolo"? Yes, Sage and Rosemary are present and hearty, but Basil is gone! Basil was my favorite, my high-needs herb, the one that mattered the most in our summer cuisine. Too much sun, it burns; too little sun; it won't mature; too much pruning, it can't recover; too little pruning, it goes to seed. I have spent years perfecting the right location, pot size, maintenance regimen, and this year I nailed it. It wasn't a basil plant, it was a basil epiphany. Oh, you should have seen it. Have you seen it? Or who took it? There may be a reward.
I have imposed upon you long enough, kind reader, with my tale of woe. I could have written something funny, like how Paolo wants to change his name to Chief Bruno, but instead I've bored you with botanical theft: a senseless-but not victimless-crime. The writing has been therapeutic for me. Maybe now the healing can begin.
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